5.5.00.
A Story.
The room was dark and hot. The jazz had a hard, driving beat. They danced wildly, but very close together.
They were off-putting to those who didn't know them, almost spooky in their ability to communicate entire conversations with only an odd gesture and a word or two whose meaning was lost on anyone else. Their friends saw it often enough that they were used to it, but rarely could understand.
When they met they were both seeing other people. They became friends, and as their relationships changed and evolved, their friendship only grew closer. Anyone would think that they caused each other's break-ups. Maybe they did.
People who knew them said they had seen it coming for years. They saw it coming for all of five minutes. One minute they were sitting on his couch, overlapping each other's bodies, just talking. The next minute they weren't talking.
They had spent enough time together, pretending that their silent touching was platonic, that when it came time, it was as if they had been together for years. Neither had to say anything after they were done; they both knew.
They often spend hours together almost wordlessly. Other times they look at the clock and see they've been talking for six hours, and forgotten to sleep. The references to previous conversations are constant and implicit - both make the same connections in their heads, and all that's needed is a glance to confirm it. Entire trains of thought are communicated with a wink. Involved stories are recalled by the mouth forming a single vowel. Whole philosophies realized with the raise of an eyebrow. (He can never raise just one eyebrow; she can.)
Now they dance, eyes closed, frequently colliding. The music is hard, they collide hard. As it slows, so do they, until they find themselves with their arms around each other's waists, heads on each other's shoulders, and thoughts in each other's heads.